


Goodnight My Child

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: No More Heroes (Video Games)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Gore, M/M, Omorashi, Rape, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-07 21:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4278117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-NMH. Letz Shake gets temporarily sold off. It's just one night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodnight My Child

Who was he? He was merely a persona, it always seemed. In Singapore, he was the punk. In Germany, he was the guy from Singapore. And in America, he supposed he was the weird Asian mohawk guy who spoke in a German accent.

He sat in the robotics lab in silence.

"Ryan, you're still here?"

"For 'ze last fucking time, I am not 'Ryan'." He blew hot air into his hands, lips curling. His co-student sighed. Few people could get used to referring to any man as a new name. Let alone a ridiculous name, a name as ridiculous as 'Letz Shake'. But that was his name, for certain. (Ryan is a name for losers.)

It was past 11, and he was still at his school, working. He didn't know what he was building. Victor put his hand on his shoulder.

"Dude. Go home already."

"No."

"At least go outside."

"'vat's it matter to you?!" 

...He heard footsteps. The other boy went rigid in the body, and turned outside. Letz Shake sighed, putting his headphones back on. (Being the Germany-obsessed krautfucker he was, obviously, he listened to enough Rammstein to make even fans sick.) He connected two wires, and finally created life.

It was a simple thing. He calmly called it the 'Shakebot', and its biggest asset was its large feet. A mechanical cube was attached to it in the center as it trounced about the table, barely larger than his bony hands. He could have shed a bitter tear at the sight of such a thing. His first success, despite those who said he would go nowhere. Perhaps his band would be impressed as well?

"Victor! Victor, I've done it!" He pulls out his earbuds, holding the tiny robot close like a child holding a pet store hamster. Hell, Letz Shake didn't even like that kid too much, but this was an amazing discovery. This was something great... But the hall was emptied entirely. "...Victor?"

He pawed at the doors slightly. The bio lab was also empty. Victor was a very average person, Letz Shake knew so from his numerous observations of his classes. He wasn't the type to just go poof, or perhaps Victor was making a mockery of him.

"That's him."

Ow.

-

-

He awoke to a dripping. Where was he...?

He finished his robot, ran into the hallway, and then...Someone hit him on the head. And then nothing.

Every sensation was dull, and as soon as he attempted to rise, something grabbed him. Right by the 'hawk, and when he pushed out his chin in pain to open his mouth, he felt hot breath by his ear. He kicked his leg back, then realizing another thing -- He was outside, and being spoken to, and bleeding.

"S-stop, I--!"

Thick fingers wrapped around his neck. The stranger slammed his face to the ground, and he spat a tooth. He wasn't a physical tank of any sort, merely a skinny little punk kid normally protected by his entourage. The grip on his throat became tighter, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't FUCKING breathe.

His eyes were bugged out as if he were some sort of horrible fruit fly. He was prepared for death, sensation all leaving him. He couldn't even find the energy to hear, as his throat was barely pulling through his remaining air supply. Much to his dismay, more escaped him than air, or blood, or even his sense of whether he was alive or dead. It's quite natural for ones bladder to evacuate upon death, so possibly, he was just getting ready.

The stranger released him. He took deep, harsh breaths, his arms trembling.

"Gross, you fucking pissed all over me."

That wasn't really what Letz Shake wanted to hear. 

The strange person slammed his chin onto the ground, a motion harsh enough to break the poor boy's jaw. He felt horrible, like an abnormal lump was growing in his throat. He didn't want to cry, or be assaulted, but every part of his body felt so numb, even after building the...

The robot.

"Crap! Fuck, shit! My invention!"

"Oh, the tiny robot?" The guy laughed a raspy laugh. "Damn thing was frail, you dropped it and all them legs fell off. Gave 'em to Vic when I paid 'im. I paid 'im for you."

He shuddered, covering his face. There were too many questions, but aside from that, there was nothing left. His years worth of work was destroyed. Because someone, a certain Victor he assumed, saw him as an object even on the day of his success. 

The man calmly pulled Letz Shake's skinny pants down, unbuckling his belt hastily. His entire lower half smelled like piss, and he felt nothing short of filthy. He didn't want to be touched, to be sullied after a moment of failure. While he smelled of urine and was bleeding from his forehead. The strange man wiped Letz Shake's forehead off, and shoved the bloody fingers in his mouth.

His own sanguine substances tasted of salt. 

"I'll trade numbers with you after this if you get lonely at night. You can be my girlfriend if you grow out the dumbass mohawk. Call me Dennis if you want." Dennis. He could never have any feelings towards anybody with that name. The stranger -- Dennis, if you will, -- began fuddling around with his victim's unmentionables. "Just get into it, ya big baby."

He attempted to resist, but the rules of the human body forbade him from remaining un-aroused. But that man, that 'Dennis', was awfully skilled with his hands. Or, perhaps, it was merely because Letz Shake was as virgin as a nun, barely even touched below the belt by his own mother. The sensation of another person, man or woman, almost made him bleary with the awful pleasure.

"There we go, ain't so bad."

"You, you fucking deviant, I vill kill you!" He sounded almost overdramatic. Dennis laughed under his breath, probably at Letz Shake's ridiculous accent. One would suppose even a fake accent could stick after some time. "Stop laughing!"

"Yer accent is adorable. Freaky-ass German kids, eh?" Dennis snickered to himself. "I'm gonna assume I'm your first. Lucky me." Something fell between the arse cheeks of the lanky punk, and it was hot, and gross, and he knew what it was but he didn't want to think or say it and he tried to run away but--

Dennis slammed him to the ground. Hard enough to bruise that pale face on the stony asphalt. This was the end of Letz Shake's life, or Ryan Wong's life, or whatever. Who gave a shit about what his name was? He'd die before even doing anything cool or useful or sleeping with a girl or anything. And he didn't like it, even if he looked like he did, even if he was red-faced and harder than a block of cement, he didn't like the idea of dying after pissing all over a sidewalk and getting his cock handled.

"Quit cryin' already." He was preparing. He was wedging that filthy gland between the ass cheeks of an esteemed, albeit not very good, punk vocalist. It was equivalent to someone sticking five fingers into their belly button, which Letz Shake had tried before. Multiple times.

And without a thought, it began.

Letz Shake had gotten his fair share of enemas. Not only because he got sick at least once every few months, if not moreso, but because his diet consisted mainly of doritos and pizza. However, those were...far less unpleasant. Compared to the pains of unlubed, burning, stinging anal with a stranger. For no benefit, or anything, but when it brushed against that one point...Ah, what was it. The upstate, or something?

A point accessible through the male backside, able to cause immeasurable pleasure. Something his sex ed teacher said once. Whatever the hell it was, he never paid it mind, and now that was coming to quite literally bite him in the ass. This guy knew. He had to have known, how else could he grind against it so perfectly whenever he pushed back in, before withdrawing and brushing against it.

In out in out in out in out in out. And then there was a pause.

He had been smart. Dennis was clearly a sadist, and thus, the smartest course of action would be to wedge his bandanna into his maw. The only noises he would, or could produce, were muffled cries. Thus, Dennis would get bored and leave. A genius, that Letz Shake was. 

However, it wasn't long before the man caught on. Though, it felt longer than it was, like an hour packed into 3 or so minutes. 

"Cut the crap! I'll ram that scarf up your ass!" He took it. His favorite bandanna, the red one. Though tears fueled Dennis' sadism, Letz Shake just couldn't help himself. This was the worst night of his 17-year existence, easily. The masochistic sensation of pain and pleasure, pistoning in and out similarly to that of a car engine made him want to die on the spot. 

He didn't cum. He wouldn't, that just wasn't his style, though circumstances made it difficult. He had no interest in giving this Dennis person the enjoyment of mocking him. And no way was he telling his family.

His heart was thumping, face buried within the confines of his elbows. His shirt stuck to his back with sweat and pants rolled to his knees. He didn't even know where he was. Some alleyway? Maybe near school? Could anyone see him? The light was all in the streets by the cars driving by, perhaps people would guess he was passed out. But unconscious boys don't shake, or lift their heads with tears rolling down their cheeks.

The release was hot inside him. It was hot, and it burned. Dennis came around to the front, pulling up slightly on Letz Shake's now misshapen mohawk.

When he opened his mouth, Dennis fed him something warm. He was tired, and he couldn't breathe.

-

-

"Hey. Wake up."

It was a woman's voice. The first thing he did was vomit. The figure stepped away from his release.

"It's awfully late, you know. And get your pants on."

"Fuck, shit, son of a..." His backside was sticky, but he supposed the laundry was going out tomorrow anyway. Not to mention they were already filthy. The stranger absconded with his bandanna, his forehead was covered in dried blood, and his cracked teeth were all over the ground in front of him. The woman looked like an angel, perhaps his guardian there to save him. "...Are you a real person?"

"Of course I am. I believe my fifth ranked assassin just spent his LB dollars ramming it in you."

He clasped his fingers over his mouth. The woman paused. "If you're going to be sick, do it away from me." He most certainly did it away from her, out of the kindness of his heart. "...I can help you kill him."

"...'zat is illegal."

"You have me on your side, don't you? I'm Sylvia Christel, agent of the United Assassins Association." 

He was too tired to think. Instinct crushed morality as he remembered the humiliation of what had happened. Well, it was more than humiliation, but he was incapable of describing all the negativity in his brain.

"If you get me a drink, I'll take you up."

"You're definitely underage...Ah, whatever."

Revenge wouldn't satisfy him, but it still would be tasty.


End file.
